


The Kitchen

by thunder_rolled_a_six



Series: center of the home [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-03-18 20:42:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3583332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunder_rolled_a_six/pseuds/thunder_rolled_a_six
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First in a series of drabbles taking place in Feuilly and Bahorel's kitchen</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 8:00 PM

It was only 8 pm by the time Feuilly got home, but he had been up since 5:30, gone to shifts at two different workplaces, and still somehow managed to get to class on time with homework completed, and he was exhausted. He dropped his backpack by the door, shuddering at the thought of how early he would have to get up the next day because of the unfinished essay inside, and hung up his coat. He was fully prepared to drop straight into bed, making food be damned, but as he toed off his shoes he smelled something suspiciously like casserole coming from the apartment’s small kitchen.

Rounding the corner, he became aware of some kind of music playing off of Bahorel’s old ipod speakers. He had taken his hearing aids out the last half hour of work, the loud jumble of noise coming from customers eager to use a 50% off add becoming too much as he restocked jeans, so he had missed the sounds of a tall, loud man cooking dinner and singing when he entered the house. Feuilly leaned against the doorway and watched as Bahorel danced back and forth between the stove and the countertop where the dish was sitting. He couldn’t quite distinguish what lyrics he was singing, but his voice was comforting. He was laughed as much as he sang, which Feuilly knew he did when he only half remembered the words. Bahorel was only in sweatpants and a binder, his hair falling out of its messy bun, and in the warm kitchen light Feuilly thought he looked beautiful.

Bahorel jumped a little when he turned to see Feuilly lingering in the entrance. I didn’t see you come in, he signed, noting the lack of hearing aids.

“Sorry,” Feuilly pushed himself off the wall and stepped closer, I didn’t know you would be home. I thought you were going out with Joly and R?

Joly canceled. Date night. Bahorel made a face as he signed it, but then leaned in to kiss Feuilly’s cheek, and Feuilly thought he had no right to judge others for any romantic activities. He had come home once to find the apartment filled with flowers and candles, which had been very sweet until he got three phone calls from various amis asking where all their candles had gone. It was still pretty sweet anyway. Feuilly sighed and leaned into Bahorel, wrapping his arms around his waist and enjoying his warmth.

“How was your day?” Bahorel asked, clearly enough to be understood, hands occupied reaching to turn off the stove and rubbing gentle circles on Feuilly’s back. Feuilly grunted noncommittally and Bahorel hummed in sympathy.

“Made you dinner.”

“Smells good.”

Feuilly reluctantly let go so they could pile plates with food. He headed towards the living room and put his hearing aids back on while Bahorel went to replace the binder with a loose t-shirt. When he came back in the room Feuilly was staring blankly into space with a forkful of food resting in his hand.

“You gotta actually eat you know. Holding the food isn’t gonna do much.”

Feuilly looked down at his fork in mild surprise and laughed quietly, finishing the mouthful. Bahorel went to the shelf under their small tv and rooted around for a movie to put on in the background, then returned to flop on the couch. Feuilly leaned against him.

“Hey, no falling asleep till you finish at least half of that.”

“Mmhmm.”

Feuilly made it almost three quarters through the plate before he started to nod off. He had removed his hearing aids again, and the movie’s dull noise, Bahorel’s warmth, and the dim lights in the living room were the perfect accidental sleep scenario, and judging by the way Bahorel was gently stroking his shoulder he had arranged it that way on purpose. He sat up a little straighter and craned his neck to kiss him on the cheek. Bahorel looked down and smiled, eyes soft, and Feuilly again thought that he was beautiful.

“You ready for bed?”

Yes.

Feuilly was vaguely aware of Bahorel putting away the dishes as he shuffled to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Bahorel came in to do the same, knocking their elbows together playfully in the small space. They went to the bedroom together, Feuilly shedding his shirt and kicking his pants into the corner. Bahorel pulled the covers down and sank into the mattress, Feuilly crawling in next to him, curling into his side as Bahorel put his arm around him.

"You sure you can sleep? It’s barely 9."

" I... be fine... night... love you."

The words drifted in and out of comprehensibility, but they still made Feuilly smile.

"Love you too," he sighed as he drifted off.

\---

It did take Bahorel awhile to fall asleep, but he was fine with that. He liked the feeling of being warm and happy and next to someone he loved. And anyway, it was mostly because Joly kept sending texts teasing him about canceling their plans to cook dinner for his boyfriend.


	2. 1:00 PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feuilly and Bahorel Make cupcakes.

     “Draw a dick on it.”

     Feuilly stares down at the frosting bag in his hand and the unsteady line he just piped out, all uneven and almost falling off the edge. The actual frosting set that he could have sworn they have was nowhere to be found, so he’s making do with a Ziploc with the corner cut off, which should have been fine but they only had snack bag size, and he had to add too much milk to the frosting to stretch it out because someone kept eating it and they only had so much powdered sugar.  
    “I’m not drawing a dick on birthday cupcakes for a 13 year old.”

      “He’s turning 14,” Bahorel is dancing near the sink and being of no help at all. He has frosting smeared on his forehead and Feuilly vaguely wonders how it could have got there. “And he would think it’s hilarious.”

     “His older sister wouldn’t.”

     Bahorel laughs, the vague arm waving he was engaged in halting for a moment, “Eponine would probably find it funny too.”

     “Azelma wouldn’t, the only actual mature adult in that house.”

     Bahorel looks contemplative, continuing to swing his hips not quite to the beat of the radio. Feuilly returns to frowning at the cupcakes, and tries to complete another one. A little crooked, but probably no one would be able to tell. At least they would taste ok, because Bahorel was a good cook, if a lousy decorator. One of his hearing aids begins to whistle as he moves to the next cupcake, and he sighs, taking them both out and chucking them in a drawer. Having to buy the cheapest ones he could find meant they were slightly loose fitting, emitting high pitched feedback with frustrating regularity. Bahorel’s music was now muffled, but Feuilly could still hear him start to laugh. Turning, he finds him beginning to sign the song the song that must have come on over the speakers.

      _Build Me Up Buttercup_. Feuilly smiles. It was the first thing he had taught Bahorel to sign. Courf had later congratulated him on a masterful bit of strategic flirting, but it had really been the first song that came to mind. Slow, simple words, memorable rhythm; it had been a perfect starting point. As Bahorel’s hands form _I need you more than anyone, darling, you know that I have from the start_ , Feuilly thinks maybe his subconscious had been trying to take things into its own hands. Glancing back at the cupcakes, he decides that three left bare out of two dozen is decorated enough. Squirting a giant blob onto one of the leftovers, he sits on the floor and takes a bite. Bahorel, never one to not eat a cupcake, joins him.

     “You really are good at baking.”

     Bahorel smiles. _And you are a great decorator_ , he signs, waving his cupcake about. Feuilly grins and squeezes what’s left in the bag all over the cupcake, and Bahorel’s hand, and the floor where some tries to make a break for freedom.

    _We make a perfect team_!

     Bahorel laughs and eats the cupcake, downing the thing in two giant bites and getting frosting all over his face. Looking over mischievously, he slowly starts to move in towards Feuilly. Feuilly’s eyes go wide as he realizes what’s about to happen, and shakes his head frantically even as he struggles to keep a smile off his face. Too late to escape, Bahorel kisses him right on the lips, smushing frosting everywhere. Feuilly laughs helplessly, everything tasting and smelling like vanilla. The afternoon light is warm, making everything glowy, and Bahorel is so close, looking ridiculous but smiling so big. They have to be at the party in half an hour, but they can wait to clean up a little longer.


	3. 5:00 AM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feuilly asks a question.

     Feuilly thinks Bahorel might be most attractive in the morning.

     Feuilly thinks Bahorel might be most attractive most of the time. At noon, meeting him for lunch with a smile bright as the sun, in the evening with the golden light floating down on him, at any time when he does just about anything. But mornings are definitely up there.

     Maybe it’s because he really doesn’t have, or particularly want, to be there, Feuilly thinks as Bahorel shuffles around their kitchen at 5:15 AM. Feuilly has a shift starting at 6, but Bahorel doesn’t have any obligations till 9 at the earliest. He always gets up though, and makes coffee while Feuilly gets ready. This morning he stares down at his mug like the living dead, pajamas rumpled, hair loose from its usual messy bun and littered with small braids. Feuilly had woken up at 3 in the morning and had needed something to do with his hands. Bahorel yawns hugely and Feuilly loves him with all his heart. He mumbles something that Feuilly can’t quite catch, even with his hearing aids.  
     “What?”

      _You want toast_? Even Bahorel’s hands as he signs the words seem to be slurred with sleep.

    “Yes, please, but I can do it…” He trails off as Bahorel fixes him with an affronted look. He raises his hands in surrender and Bahorel shoves some pieces of bread in their ancient toaster. He leans on the counter and looks in danger of falling back asleep. Feuilly takes a step closer, thinking at least he could try to catch him if that happens. Bahorel taps his shoe with his toe and smiles at him, eyes nearly closed, and Feuilly struggles to remember how to breathe. Mornings were so lonely for so long, waking up early to go to school or work in an empty apartment, looking ahead at a day where it would be him against the world. It had taken awhile to adjust to having people in his life. He had been good at doing things for himself even when life got bad, but with the amis, with Bahorel, he had learned that while he can take care of himself, and is proud of himself for that, he doesn’t always have to. He has support that he can lean on. He has people who care about him. He has a ridiculous boy who gets up too early to make him coffee when he really doesn’t have to. It’s such an important moment to Feuilly, and he’s never sure how he could tell Bahorel that.

     “I saved the strawberry jam for you,” Bahorel says, holding it up. Feuilly’s favorite. Something inside him clenches, or maybe loosens up, and he can’t really help what happens next.

     “Will you marry me?”

     Several things happen. Bahorel’s tired eyes suddenly go very wide. The jam slips from his grip, not breaking, but the lid comes off and jam flies across floor. The old toaster, as it is prone to do when done with its job, expels the toast so violently it falls on its side. As the slightly burnt pieces of bread land on the counter, Feuilly’s brain catches up with his mouth.

     “Uh, I- shit, um,” Feuilly rubs the back of his head, “That’s not exactly how I planned that going…”

     “There… was a plan?” Bahorel looks a mixture of incredibly happy, disbelieving, utterly terrified, and still too asleep for any of these proceedings. There is jam on his toes.

     “Well,” Feuilly bites his lip. Yes he had a plan. He had had several plans, for quite a while now. He had made reservations at nice restaurants then cancelled them, had decorated the roof of the apartment building with candles and twinkly lights, he had even made a damn mixtape and contemplated conscripting Bossuet, Joly, and R in some sort of public performance. “It was going to be romantic. Not in the kitchen at the crack of dawn.”

     “I assume jam and toast everywhere didn’t factor in.”

     “Not really, no.” They grin at each other, able to joke even as neither of them really knows what is going on.

     “You... are you really asking? To… get married?” Bahorel is hesitant. Feuilly knows he wants to, wants a big family like his own. They’ve talked about it in vague enough terms to be safe. Bahorel would also never make the first move in something this big, not wanting to push too hard on Feuilly, who has a track record of backing away from emotional decisions. Feuilly appreciates it, but also thinks Bahorel might not know just how much he trusts and cares for him. He’ll have to work on that. He reaches down into the big pocket of his jacket. There’s a small box at the bottom that has been there for a month and a half now. Cosette had gone with him to get the ring. Feuilly had looked at all the gaudy rings, loaded with jewels, fancier than his tastes or wallet agreed with but what he felt Bahorel deserved. Cosette had laughed at him and told him to get something simple and practical, like him, and that Bahorel would love it. He pulls out the ring now, a woven silver braid, no precious stones or extravagance. He gets down on one knee, fighting a giddy impulse to laugh as his pants soak in strawberry. Bahorel now looks like the one who can’t breathe.

     “I really am. I had a million plans for this, it was all going to be very romantic and fitting for us, but,” he stops holding back the laughter, looking around at the chaos, “I suppose half asleep in a ruined kitchen is about as ‘us’ as you can get. I love you,” he shrugs, not really finding better words than that, “I love you every moment of the day, every moment when you smile or hold my hand, when you are just there. When you make me laugh. When you wake up with me and make coffee, when you really don’t need to. I love you, Bahorel. Will you marry me?”

     Bahorel lets out a huff of breath, half laugh. He sits down heavily in front of Feuilly, smiling a decidedly watery smile. There is jam on his hand as he reaches for the ring.

     “Of course I will,” he shakes his head and laughs quietly, “Of course. I’m awake before six, I think that’s evidence enough of being pretty damn devoted here.” Both of them might be crying a little bit, but neither mentions it. “I love you too.

     Feuilly settles down, legs crossed, as Bahorel slips on the ring, looking stunned and delighted. He’ll have to change pants, these are covered in jam now, but it doesn’t really seem to matter. He reaches for Bahorel’s hand, and they sit on the floor together at way-too-early, and they are going to get married, and Feuilly thinks Bahorel might be most attractive in the morning.


End file.
